


call me on my cell phone, late night when you need my love

by nicrouleaucanrouleauintomybed



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicrouleaucanrouleauintomybed/pseuds/nicrouleaucanrouleauintomybed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor is stuck in his old childhood room with his boyfriend in the next room over, seemingly unable to do anything about it, but Kevin has other ideas. PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	call me on my cell phone, late night when you need my love

 After the long years he had spent in his teens struggling with his sexuality, with the dreams of Steve Blade and Brad Pitt and every single one of the N’SYNC boys at once, Connor thought he could never feel more frustrated in that room than he did then.

Unfortunately, as you may already know, Kevin Price.  

Back in the quiet and what should be the comfort of his childhood bed, with his boyfriend of four years in the next room, Connor has been proven without a shadow of a doubt, _very_ wrong. Not that there’s anything he can do about it. His parents are already accepting enough about Kevin being under their roof without throwing in them sleeping in the same bed, never mind the same _room_ , into the equation.

It hasn’t exactly been an easy road to get here, after all. In the three years since they returned from their mission, it took one year to even accept that he was gay, two years to accept that he had a boyfriend, and the whole three years to invite him into their home. That’s not to say that Connor isn’t proud of them, because he is. He really, really is. He never thought they would ever even begin to _consider_ accepting him, never mind send him the emoji of two men holding hands when the Supreme Court ruled that state-level bans on same-sex marriage are unconstitutional and, if he still prayed, he would thank the Heavenly Father for it ever night.  

So, yes, he’s proud, and forever grateful, but Connor still really wishes that he could sleep in the same room as his boyfriend.

But it’s fine. It’s fine. His parents only allow his siblings to sleep in the same rooms as their partners when they’re married, and him and Kevin are still very much living in sin (quite literally) for the time being, so it is only fair. Telling himself that, however, still doesn’t make him not want to sneak into the room next to his own and –

 _No_ , Connor, he tells himself firmly. You are not thinking about that, turn it _off_.  

However, it’s been years since he abandoned his nifty little Mormon trick, and therefore he has to distract himself in different ways. How the shadows casting over his room have changed since he stopped thinking of the room his own. The quiet creak of wood that the house seems to have picked up since he stopped calling it home. The sounds of the town that surrounded his house that have gotten just that little bit louder since he went on his mission, since it stopped being the only place he’s ever lived. It may have been three years since they left Uganda, but the noise of not even city life, but _town_ life at night is still hard to adjust to. Not having to keep an ear open for animals will remain a relief for many years to come, yet he still keeps his breathing quiet and listens anyway.

The quiet creaking of wood. The buzz of fireflies. The occasional rumble of a car passing the house. The rustle of the leaves brushing against his old bedroom window. The quiet creaking of – what even _is_ that sound, anyway?

He knows that old houses settle and make noises sometimes, but the house isn’t that old, and it wouldn’t be making a noise so familiar, and noise like – and there it is again. A quiet creak. Then another, and another, and another, and Connor doesn’t need to press his ear against his bedroom wall to realise what’s going on.

Oh, the filthy bugger.

The bed in the spare room is pressed against the wall the two rooms share and, if Connor is recognising the sound correctly, it is _not_ being used for sleeping.

“What are you doing?” he texts, because Kevin needs to stop _right now_ or Connor might just end up joining in, which he can’t do, which he _can’t_ , because getting off to the sound of his boyfriend getting off in the next room over is weird enough as it is without them being in his parent’s house, without him being in his _childhood_ bed.

The creaking of the bed next door halts, and Connor is about to breathe a sigh of relief when his phone starts ringing and why, oh _why_ , did he make the chorus of Helpless his ringtone for Kevin, why, _why_?

Eliza doesn’t even get to sing the word helpless before his cell his pressed to his ear, Connor hissing, “What are you doing?” down the line.

“What do you think?” Kevin murmurs back. He knows this tone of voice intimately now, and it doesn’t help that it’s because he knows Kevin intimately now and it may have been four years but hearing his boyfriend’s voice like that, so low and breathless, still has Connor shivering (and reminding himself _exactly_ why he texted him because, yeah, he is _definitely_ doing what he thought he was doing).

“We’re at my parents’ house!”

“I know." The creaking stops, Kevin's voice falls guilty, shamed, as he murmurs, "I miss you."

"I miss you too," Connor says. "I miss sleeping in the same bed as you. I miss waking up to you. I even miss you stealing all the covers." Kevin laughs quietly. "Okay, I don't miss that, but I miss everything else." That's been the most draining part of their trip. Not the sniffs of other family members, not the barbed hints that, well, you should at least  _marry_ him, now that it's legal, not the pointed comments about Broadway, and definitely not the amount of tiny children that seemed to have magically appeared in his absence, but the fact that they can't do  _anything else_. "I miss kissing you, I miss holding your hand. You look so gorgeous in all the smart clothes you picked out to impress my family and all I can do is watch, not drag you off to my room and - Kevin?" The creaking from next door has started up again, and Connor smiles at the ceiling. "I know you like the sound of my voice, but - "

"I saw you watching. You could barely keep your eyes off of me, oh my  _gosh -"_

Kevin’s voice is a little distorted, now, the sound of the bed more insistent, and, if Connor really strains his ears, he can hear faint, wet sounds in the background over the creaking of the bed and Kevin’s strained breathing, and when Connor says, “Kevin…” it’s more of a moan than the warning he intended.

There's a noise like a bitten-back moan and, for a second, all Connor hears over the phone is laboured breathing and the sound of Kevin – god, the sound of Kevin _jerking himself off_ , and it’s the easiest thing in the world for Connor to shut his eyes and imagine it. To shut his eyes and imagine how Kevin had looked right before he went off for his shower, in his smart shirt begging to be ripped off, and how incredible his ass looked in his trousers. To imagine how Kevin must look _now_ , laid out in bed, his tanned skin against the white sheets, his normally so-very-neat hair all messed up and a sheen of sweat coating his well-toned body as he wraps his hand around his – “What are you wearing?”

He should discourage this, put an end to it _right now_ before someone hears, before he does something stupid, but Kevin’s breathy moans are making it hard to convince him to do otherwise, _hard_ being the provocative word. Connor presses the heel of his hand against the slowly growing bulge in his pyjama pants, something he used to do many a time in this room but never quite like _this_ , and lets out a shuddering breath of his own. “You know what I’m wearing.”

Kevin laughs quietly again and, gosh, even his laughter is shaky. “You’re really not that good at this, Con.”

“Just because I prefer to be in the same room as you when I get off,” Connor replies, even if his crotch is saying otherwise. It takes every inch of his self-control for him to not buck up into his hand at even the slightest shudder in Kevin’s breath. “And _not_ in my parents’ house.”

“I can hang up, if you want.”

“You are –” Connor’s breath hitches as he slowly starts to rub himself through his pajama pants in time with the creaks of the bed next door, “– _diabolical_ , Kevin Price, you know that. _Especially_ as I’ve already had a shower.”

“So have I,” Kevin says. “Thought of you while I was in there.”

“Oh, gosh…”

“Thought of you, on your knees, with my cock in your mouth...”

“Why am I the one on my knees?” Connor counters abruptly, even as his cock twitches at the thought. "Maybe I want you on your knees."

There’s a quiet choking sound: the creak of the bed pauses momentarily, before it starts up again, even faster now, and Kevin’s voice is even more breathless to match. “Gosh, Con, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Says you.”

“You wouldn’t turn down the opportunity, though, would you, Connor?” Kevin murmurs. “You love the taste of my cock, don’t you?”

There’s no use in denying it. Connor can _feel_ the phantom weight on his tongue, the pressure on his jaw, and, _gosh_ , it’s barely been a weekbut he already misses it so much. He misses the taste, the sharp tug of Kevin’s hand in his hair, misses being on his knees for him, worshipping him more than he could ever worship the one he once called God. He pushes his hand under the waistband of his shorts at the thought, curls his fingers around his cock wishing they were someone else’s, a quiet moan falling from his mouth. “I could suck your cock forever.”

“You could.” Kevin is breathing harder than ever now and the soft, urgent sound of skin on skin down the line just spurs on Connor’s hand even more. “You have the most perfect cock-sucking mouth... so pretty and pink, like you were born to get on your knees for me. But that’s not what you want right now, is it?”

“No?” Connor breathes out because, really, he can’t think of anything better right now. “Then what do I want?”

“You want me to be in your bed,” Kevin says, “And you want to be on your hands and knees for me,” and Connor can taste the blood on his tongue from how hard he’s biting his lip dear _gosh_ , he has never been so turned on in his _life_. “You want to be on your hands and knees, begging me to fuck you. I love that. I love it when you beg me for it.”

“It’s my favourite position, what can I say,” Connor breathes out. He feels dizzy at the mere idea, tightening his fingers around the head of his cock and ignoring the eager slickness for the sake of preserving his dignity by not coming too quickly. Not that he has much to preserve in this first place: Kevin has never been the dirty talker with them before, never, and Connor didn’t realise that he could ever feel dirtier when it comes to sex than he already does but his voice, his _voice_ …

“Oh, I know it is. You know I like it when we’re face to face so I can look into your eyes – I mean, so I can see exactly how you look when I fuck you, but you like it when you’re on your hands and knees, when I’m fucking you from behind and making you feel like the –”

Kevin breaks off with a sharp intake of breath, and Connor thinks he’s come until he can still hear the creak of the bed next door, but Kevin doesn’t finish his sentence, just continues fucking into the fist that _should_ be Connor’s – well, should be something else of Connor’s, if he’s to be perfectly honest. “Like the what?”

“Like the slut you are,” Kevin whispers. There’s a sound that is half mewl and half artless sob at the word, and Connor freezes, as does Kevin and the harmonious creaking of the beds as they breathe down the phone to each other.

“I am,” Connor whispers into the quiet of his room. It’s so dark, and it stinks of sweat and sex so much already that he can just imagine Kevin standing at foot of the bed: imagine Kevin climbing up the bed, flipping him over, and just – and just taking him like the slut he is, oh _gosh_. “I’m your slut, Kevin, I’m so – I’m so –”

“Desperate for me?” Kevin suggests, but Connor’s clearly not the only one as the bed creaks next door have started even more hurried. “Desperate for me to fuck you, to fill you up? Is that what you are?”

Connor’s mind immediately flashes back to – to – gosh, he doesn’t know when it was, they’ve done it so many times by now that the memories all just blur together, the feeling of Kevin’s body pressed close to him, behind him, of Kevin’s cock stretching him and filling him up, fucking him until he screams. He has to turn in his bed and bite on his pillow to stop him from doing just that, and he feels so _filthy_ , his ass up in the air as he jacks himself off in his childhood bed to the sound of his boyfriend’s voice, to the sound of the creak of the bed as his boyfriend jacks off next door, but _gosh_ if it still isn’t enough to satisfy him.

“You’re biting your pillow, aren’t you?” Kevin says when Connor doesn’t reply, and he lets out a quiet whimper. “I love it when you do that. But do you know what I love more?” Kevin doesn’t give him a chance to reply, not that Connor thinks he could without letting a noise that would certainly wake his parents escape from his mouth, imagining Kevin’s cock inside of him, pushing against his prostrate as he thrusts relentlessly, giving him everything that he’s wanted since he first heard the creak of the bed next door, and Connor is so close to the edge that he can almost taste it. “When you’re so fucked out that you can’t even do that anymore, all you can do is scream and beg me to go harder, faster –”

The ball of heat that had been steadily building in Connor’s gut bursts and he comes with a muffled cry into the pillow, nearly letting the phone slip from his fingers as he splatters his sheets with come. He’s only just able to make out a sound he knows all too well – the start of his name, broken off into a moan – that is Kevin following suite as Connor collapses into his sheets, luckily to the _side_ of the wet patch, boneless as he sinks into them.  

“I now have a giant wet patch in the middle of my bed, you asshole,” Connor grumbles when he’s recovered enough to string a sentence together.

“Love you too,” Kevin murmurs back, and disconnects.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
